


All is Fair

by salishseaselkie



Series: Of Lambs and Lions [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, In Hushed Whispers, Mages and Templars, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niamh and Cullen disagree on the recruitment of the Mage Rebellion to their cause; when the enemy is at their gates, they both have cause to regret their harsh words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All is Fair

Niamh bristled as the Commander of the Inquisition reprimanded her for her choices in Redcliffe. “What were you thinking? Mages, running amok in our camps? Granting them full alliance in this war? It is madness!” Niamh glared and snaps back.

“And what else would you have me do? Turn on those I once called my comrades?”

“You should have demonstrated more objectivity-”

“And you should rethink your prejudice!” Had she been a wild animal, she was sure her hackles would have been raised higher than the Chantry’s steeple. Silence filled the room – the Herald had called out the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, and there were none who could contest her judgment, yet none who would dare confirm her accusation. Commander Cullen had, for all intents and purposes, been trying to remove himself from that life, and it would do no good to open healing wounds. Cullen merely stood there, his amber eyes wide and disbelieving, almost pained.

Cassandra diverted his attention. “Commander, I was present with the Herald when she extended the alliance to Fiona. The alternative would not have been as agreeable as this, even if it is not what we had hoped for.” Cullen merely shot her a glare.

“So long as you are aware we are playing with fire…” He spared one more pained look at Niamh, and left for the barracks.

Niamh, of course, did not feel very well after her altercation with the Commander - there were unforgiving knots in her stomach, and she was developing a migraine. He had been so kind to her since she’d arrived – not at all like the templars that she remembered from her days in the Circle. The Ostwick templars had been a fair mix of good and bad eggs, and she had been good at keeping her nose down where they had been concerned. She even had friends among their ranks. Once, she had even fancied one.

So when she had met Cullen, she had never thought to wonder if he would have any issue with her being a mage, or take issue with an alliance with mages. Their confrontation had caught her off-guard. Had she been too harsh? It had been unjust of her to bring up his past indiscretions – or had it? He treated mages like they were an enemy – did he think such of her?

Maker, it wasn’t fair.

* * *

Cullen did not know how that discussion had become so volatile, where that sudden vitriol had come from – from either of them – but he hurt from it. She didn’t understand. She’d come from Ostwick. Trouble rarely came from Ostwick. She had not been in Kirkwall, in the Gallows, or at Kinloch Hold. The White Spire and Starkhaven also had been caught up in the whirlwind of rebellion – yet Ostwick, before the dissolution of the Circle, had been relatively quiet. She knew nothing of the explosive nature of magic gone wrong.

Not that he blamed the mages in Kirkwall – his faculties were intact enough to know that was Meredith’s doing, if anything. Hers and the likes of him, those who were willing to turn a blind eye, or worse, those who viciously drank up her anti-mage paranoia as license to abuse those in their care.

So perhaps she had some ground to fight back. Those had been her fellows. It could have been her.  _Could_  have. But it wasn’t. And she’d called him on his mistakes in front of everyone – she’d _humiliated_  him. He was trying very hard not to lose his temper, not to cry, not to smash something, but she had been off-base. He was not  _prejudiced_.

Or was he? Was she off-base? It was hard to tell when his emotions were running so high. Perhaps…

She had great loyalty to her Circle brothers and sisters. He could not fault her for that. But for her harshness, her sharp rebuke, and…Maker, the fire in her eyes when she’d turned on him, when her ringing voice had sliced through his reprimand, had brought him low.

Completely unfair.

Two days later, they met at the door of the back room in the Chantry. Niamh, her eyes a cold, unfeeling ice blue, looked away as soon as their eyes met, her brow a sharp slant across her forehead, still nursing sore feelings over his attitude. Cullen snorted as she briskly entered the room to mobilize the mages to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Whatever was to come, he hoped they could soon come to find a happy medium.

* * *

Red templars at their doorstep, and a dragon that looked very much like what had been described as an Archdemon ten years prior in Ferelden. Niamh hurried the last survivors into the Chantry, and after a brief discussion about options, it looked like she would be their sacrifice. Cullen felt his heart twisting. It wasn’t right. They hadn’t made their peace. He hadn’t said he was sorry. But what could he do? This was no time for sentiment. It was time for action, and he had to send her into the fray.

As she turned to go, something caved in his soul, in his breaking heart. “Niamh…” he quietly called out to her. He half-expected her to carry on, to be out of earshot of his whispered plea.

She whipped her head around, eyes wide, those same slanting eyebrows pinching together in concern. “Yes?” He swallowed.

“I…” He felt himself falter, his fleeting resolve crumble under her piercing eyes. He glanced at the floor. “I…” Arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him in tightly.

“I’m sorry.” Words stripped from his tongue like a stocking off of a lady’s thigh, and they were suddenly hers,  _theirs_. It hurt. Maker, it hurt that he was not strong enough to say it.

Then she was gone, and the Chancellor and the boy were in his care, and they had to  _go_  before everything else began to crumble.

 _Maker_ , he prayed,  _it’s not fair_.


End file.
